


Code 46E

by kat8cha



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: M/M, bracket abuse, briefly implied natasha/ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat8cha/pseuds/kat8cha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an operation gone slightly wonky Natasha notifies Clint that he is the subject of a 46E, SHIELD's code for a doppelganger. Tony decides that the best way to irritate Clint is to hit on said doppleganger and Brandt, along for the ride, sort of not really seduces the rich guy while IMF attempts to run an operation on SHIELD's turf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Code 46E

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ErinDizmo and the number of Brandt = Clint fics out there (all of which are FABULOUS)

“Hey, Hawkeye.” Clint barely twitched when Tony’s voice came over the comm, despite how irritatingly clear Stark’s voice was. From his position Clint could see Stark pretending to talk into a cellphone while staring _right at Clint_ potentially exposing his sniper’s nest. Or, alright, nearly right at Clint, SHIELD would have been crazy to give Stark his exact locations and if Stark was wearing body head sensing contacts he wasn’t acting like it. Stark was about as subtle as a dead trout to the face at the best of times and a deadly liability at the worst. He shouldn’t even be _in_ on this Op, Clint had protested Stark’s presence vehemently but had been informed that since Iron Man AND Tony were the targets and the attack was to take place during one of Tony’s parties on Tony’s yacht that Hawkeye didn’t get a choice because Iron Man was twice as stubborn as any mule Clint had ever met. (Clint had met a fair amount of mules, donkeys, and jackasses, Tony was definitely a jackass.) “I know you can hear me, Hawkeye.”

Clint let out his frustration in a huff. “It’s called radio silence, Iron Man, ever heard of it?” The irony was killing him too, but hey, it took him close to 36 hours before he started cracking wise on an Op. Well, unless he was allowed to talk as much as he chose, then he snarked every five minutes.

The silence from Natasha was truly underwhelming.

“Hey, I just wanted to ask a question.” Stark’s eyes left Hawkeye’s position and instead the man glanced around the room. Clint couldn’t see what Stark was looking at as his nest gave him a GREAT view of the extremely secure spot of the room they’d told Stark to stay in but no view at all of the rest of the party. Since Clint didn’t actually expect Stark to stay within the yellow line (so to speak) he had prepared another nest with a view of the room in its entirety as well. “You have a brother you never told me about?”

Yes and no, yes he had a brother he’d never told Stark about, no, he did NOT have a brother (anymore). The anger management classes Coulson had been sending him to must be working because Clint could think of no other reason why he didn’t just shoot Stark where he stood “No.” Because there was no reason to go into his family history with Stark, no reason at all.

“They do say that everyone’s got a twin.” Stark pushed off from the bar that he had been leaning against and set off into the room. Four steps took him out of Clint’s line of sight. “I’m off to meet yours!”

“Iron Man.” A faintly muffled sound, Stark must have tucked the Comm piece into the pocket of his suit. “Stark!” Clint cursed under his breath and shifted position. “Widow, I have lost visual of Iron Man.”

“Roger that, I have visual.” Natasha spoke up for the first time since they’d all gotten into position at the beginning of the party. “Find another nest, Hawkeye, I’ll keep an eye on… huh.”

Clint was already halfway out of his nest when Natasha’s ‘huh’ stopped him cold. She didn’t just ‘huh’ for anything. It took something that other people might curse over or be struck blind by to make her ‘huh’. “Huh, what, Widow?”

“The IMF’s here.” Her tone was odd but Clint wasn’t going to spend time dissecting what kind of tone she was using. Instead he slipped out of his nest and hurried off to his second one. “I’m calling Coulson.”

Clint grabbed his rifle bag and ducked into a main hallway, nodding at guests as he passed them. “Roger that Widow, Hawkeye out.”  
\---

 

Tony dropped his earbud into the pocket of his tux and ignored the chatter of the two agents that shadowed him. He passed a gorgeous woman in a red dress, gorgeous enough that he almost veered off course, he did give her a second glance. The dress wasn’t elaborate although it did hug her body in the right places, it had an empire waist with some sort of beaded design and bare shoulders. Tony even gave her a third look before he refocused.

Well, if Hawkeye’s clone turned him down he knew who he’d swing back to flirt with. That was a woman who was worth more than a third look; even if she had that look in her eyes that said she was on the hunt. Tony was okay with being hunted by attractive woman… well, as long as they weren’t armed.

Hawkeye’s clone was standing next to the open bar with a drink in one hand and an expression that Hawkeye had certainly never worn. It looked like… Tony considered how to classify it those last few steps, it looked a lot like a baby deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. Well, maybe not a baby deer, Tony didn’t want anyone to think he was poaching or something.

“Can I freshen that up for you?” He asked as he slipped into a space at the bar just next to Hawkeye’s clone that had suddenly opened up. Hawkeye’s clone, and for the next few minutes that would have to do, glanced down at his half-finished drink before he tossed it all back and nodded breathlessly. Tony motioned at the bar tender and smiled at the man, he was dressed far less expensively than Tony in a suit that brought out his eyes and the expanse of his shoulders. When he moved it was hard to ignore the way the fabric clung to him like a second skin, not an ill-fitting suit just… closely cut. Whoever the tailor was, Tony needed to send them a gift basket. “I’m guessing my name, what’s yours?”

Drink in one hand Hawkeye’s clone glanced around the party before he licked his lips and looked back at Tony. Nervous was a good look on him, Tony kind of liked it. “Bran, uh, Bran Hunt. It’s nice to meet you Mister Stark.”

\---

Brandt wasn’t flustered. Alright, no, he was flustered, he was beyond flustered. The minute Tony Stark had bypassed Jane and headed for him Brandt had started to get flustered. He’d been a good agent before… well, everything that had happened, he’d been a damn good agent but since the secretary’s death and Brandt’s return to the field he had been feeling completely out of his depth. He blamed Ethan, honestly, it was like the man _attracted_ crazy missions. Perfectly sensible missions like the one they had been on (investigate and detain a rogue French terrorist group and really, French terrorists?) ended up going sideways and then _upside down_ (he was never going to visit the Eiffel Tower again, clinging to a girder with one hand had utterly ruined the romance).

“So, Bran, your parents’ big health food junkies?” Stark asked before he turned to the bartender and jingled his empty glass; it was quickly replaced by, if Brandt wasn’t wrong, by a glass of ice and ginger ale.

“Health-” Brandt was not made for this kind of mission. He did not make contact with the marks! “No, though growing up I did get called ‘Raisin Bran’.”

 _“Raisin Bran, that’s a good one,”_ Benji chuckled, he’d been so quiet Brandt had almost forgotten he was there, at least since ‘the hurricane is changing course, repeat, hurricane changing course and heading for Maine’. _“I can see you getting called that.”_  
“Nutritious and delicious.” Stark quipped and Brandt snapped his eyes back to their target and his host. “Does the nickname hold true?”

“Uh…” Brandt took another sip of his drink for time to think which a poor idea was anyway after he had slugged back the first glass. He hadn’t meant to drink any alcohol at all, it was just so he’d blend in. “I’ve never tasted myself so-” Was that a dirty leer? That was a dirty leer. Tony Stark was leering at him. This was not how things were supposed to go.

Stark was a playboy, that was a well-documented fact, the fact that occasionally Stark was found in bed with a guy or two was poorly documented, primarily due to Stark’s impressive PR department. Brandt knew, of course, because the IMF knew because the IMF kept extremely detailed files on people like Stark. But even knowing that Brandt wasn’t really Stark’s type, the man went for younger men, buff and generally blonde and usually tall, blue eyes preferred and that was not Brandt. Whatever had caused him to ignore Jane wasn’t just Brandt’s good looks.

Stark’s eyes went up and down Brandt’s frame, the leer continuing to sit nestled in Stark’s goatee, and his gaze lingered for a second below Brandt’s beltline. It was really hard not to squirm.

 _“Go with it Maine, Florida I need your help. Dodge past the rhododendron, I’ve got a tail.”_ Ethan pulled Jane off of seduction duty and put Brandt neatly in the driver’s seat. The fact he had been given the green light would have calmed him down if not for Stark’s next statement.

“You know you have a hole in your pants.” Brandt shifted and felt his thighs brush together, the hole had made him feel slightly exposed up until he had forgotten about it in his ‘Stark is coming over here, no maybe he just wants to visit the bar, no he’s headed straight for me’ panic.

 _“A hole?”_ Benji was not helping, _“When did you get a hole?”_

“Ah, yeah,” Brandt shifted again and Stark’s eyes lingered for a long moment between his legs when they finally lifted back to his face Brandt was sure he had to be the same color as the Iron Man suit. He was so quitting, so quitting, being an analyst had involved so much less stress. “When I’m nervous, well,” How to explain? “I do a lunge, a deep lunge, to uh, relieve the tension.” He’d never considered embarrassment as a possible way to die, not for him, not in the job he was _in_.

 _“A lunge?”_ Not. Helping. _“What do you mean you do a deep-”_

 _“ **Alaska**.”_ Ethan’s voice cut through Benji’s chatter.

 _“Right, shutting up.”_

“You were nervous about the party? It’s not that big…” Stark motioned at the insanely large room packed full of all sorts of people. “I mean, I know everyone on the guest list! Almost everyone, okay, pretty sure Pepper knows everyone.” Stark grinned at Brandt, “I don’t remember seeing your name though.”

“I’m a plus one but my friend…” Brandt glanced in the direction Ethan and Jane looked like they were playing ‘lose the tail’. “Ran into someone else.” Oh, possibly literally, that was a nice clothesline.

“Well, since your friend has abandoned you and my party has caused you to ruin your pants…” Which sounded a lot worse than just having a hole. Brandt wasn’t sure he could trust the gleam in Stark’s eye. “Let me offer to give you some new ones, I’m sure I have a pair that would fit.”

They’d needed to get Stark alone for this, Ethan was down and Jane was probably going to be busy wrestling with whoever the redhead was (they were too far away for Brandt to identify her), so it looked like Brandt was going to-

 _“I guess this time you do get to seduce the rich guy.”_

“I’d like that Mister Stark.” Stark smiled at him and then nodded towards the crowd, Brandt started walking and hissed under his breath _“Shut up, Alaska.”_ Stark’s hand on his back was warm and extremely low almost on his, Brandt twitched, okay, yeah, that had definitely been a pinch to his ass.

\---

“Code 46E.” Natasha spoke low into her earpiece when she spotted the man Stark was approaching.

“ _What?!_ “ Hawkeye squawked at her and Natasha did not so much wince as grit her teeth and promise bloody and painful retribution later. Maybe in two or three days when she got Clint on the sparring matts and she could slam her hand into his throat. “A 46- oh man, he wasn’t joking about the twin thing.”

Natasha examined the man that Tony was approaching. He did look remarkably like Clint, so remarkably that if she were to pass them in the hallway she might even mistake one for the other. There were subtle differences however, the way the man at the bar held himself for one. Clint was surrounded by a miasma of cockiness; the man at the bar had an air of tortured stoicism with an understated scent of badassery. Clint’s arms were more developed and this man was dressed in a manner Clint _never_ would be. She wondered how he had gotten in; if his name had been on the guest list the resemblance would have been noted before. He had to be a plus one then… or one of the people targeting Stark. Natasha glanced over at Ethan Hunt.

Could Hunt be in on it? Whether he was or not he was _not_ sanctioned to be on Tony’s vessel. Natasha was not even sure if the IMF was being disavowed this week or not, if she didn’t pay attention suddenly Ethan was either persona non grata or not receiving an award for yet again saving the world.

“Do you have Coulson yet?” Natasha turned so she could still see Hunt and keep an eye on Stark and the doppleganger.

“There’s some sort of interference, for some reason I can’t contact anyone but you and Stark.” Hunt was moving away Natasha made a split-second decision to follow him. If something was going on Hunt was going to know, Hunt _always_ knew. “He’s on the receiving pad isn’t he?” By which Clint meant the helipad that Stark had on his yacht. Natasha still thought of the whole boat as an extremely bourgeoisie waste of money and space.

“Can you see Stark from your new nest?” She asked while she tried to keep one eye on Stark and the other on Hunt. Hunt was going to get away from her soon…

“I’ve got visual on the target, not on the 46E.” Natasha nodded and turned away from Stark and his current game of ‘tease the teammate’ to track Hunt through the crowded room, he picked up speed when he realized she was following. Good, he probably recognized her then. “You know, I’ve never seen myself from behind, is my ass really that big?”

“Is your ego?” She countered as she dodged a waitress. Hunt was joined by an attractive woman in a red gown. Hmm, Jane Carter if Natasha wasn’t mistaken, the woman who had been part of Hunt’s team during the Cobalt fiasco. Dunn too had been a member of that team and someone else, a new edition that had been disavowed with the rest of the IMF but no one had expected. What was his name?

“That’s so not fair. If my ass was the size of my ego it’d fill the room.” Hunt and Carter were really going to play cat and mouse with her? Oh, they were going to try but the way Natasha played made it an entirely different game. She paused and ducked out of Hunt’s line of sight and kept in the blind spots of the cameras. She knew well enough that the IMF tended to take over the security infrastructure during an Op and if she wasn’t positive that Coulson and Fury were going to have _words_ with whatever tech geek was supposed to be monitoring their frequencies and the closed circuit cameras she would be a great deal angrier with them than she currently was.

“At least you admit you’re an egomaniac.” Hunt was coming right around, ah, perfect. “Keep an eye on the target.” The sensation of taking down Ethan Hunt was almost as good as foreplay, the look on Carter’s face and the way she kicked off those heels made it even better.

\---

The sounds of Natasha kicking ass filled Clint’s ear and he grinned widely. “You always hog the fun.” From the look of it she was having fun too, it was rare that Clint saw Natasha smile while kicking ass the sexy chick she was fighting must be good. Of course if Clint was fighting that kind of woman he’d be smiling too. The man that Natasha had clotheslined was looking stunned and still on his back which was probably what saved him from getting kicked in the head by either combatant or snagged by the circle of Stark security too smart to break up the fight.

“Shit, Widow, Iron Man is leaving the floor. I’m following.” Stark was leading the Code 46E off the floor, passing just under Clint’s current location. Now that Clint had seen the man’s face he could agree, the resemblance was uncanny.

He still didn’t think his ass was that big though.

Following Stark was easier said than done. Most of the party goers were distracted either by booze, the fight, the DJ that was still playing (and Clint did not want to know what Stark paid for that kind of service) but the guests would no doubt notice if a man with a rifle slung across his back (‘no room for bows and arrows in the eaves, Hawkeye’ he was pretty sure Coulson had something against his preferred weapon) dropped onto the dance floor and ran after their host. Instead he had to wiggle out of his hidey hole yet again and make his way to the balcony. His rifle was abandoned for the firearm tucked into his shoulder holster and the knives secreted on his person.

He passed Coulson in the hallway; the other man waved him onward and signaled that he was headed towards the camera room. Clint nodded and continued to head towards Stark’s ‘love shack’. Of course that’s not what he called it (‘it’s a bedroom close to the party room that doesn’t mean it’s going to be used for sordid purposes’ uh-huh then why was it fully stocked with all sorts of things that Clint didn’t want to think about?) but that was so what it was.

And sure enough the door was shut with a little ‘do not disturb’ sign hung on the handle while the grunts from within were loud enough to be heard through the door. “Hope he’s not a screamer.” Clint muttered under his breath, he tried the handle and was unsurprised to find it locked, and then he readied himself to kick the door down. “Or already naked.”

\--

“Uh, Maine. Maine can you read me?” Benji wasn’t going to do something like tap his headphones or hit his equipment but he was almost tempted. “Maine?” Brandt had walked off the floor with Stark and straight into a room that had no surveillance and worse had cut off their line of communication. Stark must have some sort of shielding up which, well, made sense. Benji hadn’t actually expected to out-tech _Tony Stark_. Just being allowed to touch the man’s security system was enough to send Benji into techgasms.

Which wasn’t really a word.

And he still didn’t get to wear a mask.

“Florida, California, we’ve got a problem.” There was a squeal of static and Benji flinched and then checked the video feed of the fight with the redhead. He really wished Ethan or Jane had slipped a contact in before heading to the party but they hadn’t thought they would need one, well that showed them didn’t it. “Florida? California? Can anyone here me?”

“I can.”

Heart thundering like a charging rhinoceros Benji spun around. There was a mild mannered man dressed in a suit standing behind him, er, in front of him now. Benji wasn’t sure he’d seen the guy before, he had the kind of face that just disappeared into a crowd. “Uh. Wh-what are you doing here, mate? This is classified!”

“Yes, I know.” He reached inside of his suit coat slowly, halting when Benji reached for his gun. “I’m just getting my identification, I promise.” Then he slipped a black leather wallet out and flipped it open for Benji to see. Breath caught in his throat Benji cursed Ethan Hunt.

He _knew_ that bypassing the proper channels was going to bite them all in the arse! “Agent Coulson, um.” Benji was glad that all of his electronics were wireless nowadays, being wrapped to his chair by cords would have been embarrassing. “I can explain…”

“If you could instruct your fellow agents to stand down I would appreciate it and so would the Black Widow, I am sure, your team leader can explain everything later.” And oh, didn’t that burn, but hey, at least he didn’t have to suffer from the man’s mild disapproving look. That look was giving Benji flashbacks to primary school.

“California, uh, Maine, Florida, anybody? There’s someone here who wants to talk to you…”

\---

Natasha crushed the bug under the heel of her boot and then was tackled to the floor by Carter. Hunt had regained his feet and was pinned down by the guns of several of Stark’s security. Suddenly he stiffened, seconds later he was reaching for Carter. “Jane, pull up, she’s not related to the terrorists.”

“You really haven’t been keeping abreast, have you, Ethan?” Natasha waited for Carter to get off of her and then tucked a strand of hair behind one ear with a coy smile. “I’ve been off the market for _years_.”

Carter slanted a glance between Hunt and Natasha before she rolled her eyes. “I really don’t want to know.”

\---

Brandt was… not actually surprised when he was lead to a bedroom almost immediately off of the party. He had seen the floor plans for Stark’s yacht, he knew it was there, in fact Stark’s yacht was littered with bedrooms and fully stocked bars. Still, the room was kind of impressive. Brandt glanced around and whistled which, given what he knew of Stark’s ego, the man should appreciate.

“You like it? All my design.” Stark walked into the center of the room and waved broadly at the entire room. “So, now that we’re out of the crush, who do you work for?”

“…” Stark couldn’t possibly be aware that Brandt was a spy.

“And don’t give me any sort of cover story bull, I hate that stuff.” Stark casually undid his bowtie and tossed it onto the floor before he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. “You’re not here to kill me, right?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you locked the door?” Okay, so Stark obviously knew, Brandt would just have to play this cool.

“I’m a pretty good judge of character.” Stark’s leer was truly as legendary as the tabloids made it out to be. “And hey, maybe death would have been worth it.”

“Mister Stark, I’m not your usual-”

“Don’t. Move.” The voice was low and icy and Brandt froze when the door behind him burst open, people streamed into the room, Stark started to stand but he was pushed backwards onto the bed by a man with a gun. “Mister Stark, I can see you weren’t expecting me.”

“Actually, I kind of was, but can we reschedule this? I’ve made a far more interesting appointment.” Brandt couldn’t see behind him but he estimated only one man stayed there, pointing a gun at Brandt’s head and _way_ too close, the man was either new or stupid. So one behind him, one on Stark, two armed men (excuse him, one man, one woman) to his left one of them covering the door, and one on his right , his attention fixed on the bar.

“So I see, but no, I’m afraid, Mister Stark, that our appointment is urgent.” The leader (codename Raphael [yes, like the angel], real name; Edmond Dantès [yes, like the Count of Monte Cristo, clearly Edmond’s parents had been very cruel literature buffs]) released Stark and stepped back but still kept his gun pointed on the man. “Stand up-”

That slight retreat was all Brandt needed. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take them all but Stark should have a chance to get away or signal for help while Brandt provided a distraction.

Dantès, being the most dangerous, was the first to go down.

Shortly after that the door burst open.

\---

“Don’t hit the guy in the suit!” Stark called out from the other side of the melee. Hawkeye spared him a look before he shot one of the black clad men in the knee, he went down with a scream but still armed, Clint’s doppleganger kicked the gun out of his hands while smashing the heads of two other attackers together. The angel guy (he read his mission report, honestly, the guy’s name just escaped him) was down for the count with what looked like a broken arm, a dislocated knee, and a head injury. It only took three more shots (and a few neat moves from his not-twin) before the rest of the men (and one woman) were down. That left him facing down a man with his face standing in a circle of groaning, bleeding, and broken bodies.

“…”

Not really a weird image since he’d been in the same situation once or twice.

“…”

Stark, of course, looked like he wanted a bowl of popcorn.

“You hate L.A.?” Clint asked casually as he clicked the safety back on and slipped his gun back into hiding. At least now he’d know if the man really shared his face.

“Intensely.” The man smiled and then held out a hand. “You ever have trouble in Boston?”

Clint took the 46E’s hand and shook it; the guy had a nice firm, dry grip. “That’s what his problem was? I just figured it was the FBI objecting to SHIELD intruding on their territory. Oh, Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD.”

Because if you couldn’t trust a guy who shared your face, who could you trust?

“William Brandt, IMF.”

A throat was cleared behind him, Clint glanced over his shoulder and grinned to see the gang all there. Well, Coulson, Natasha, and the two people who Natasha had been taking down and one guy Clint didn’t recognize, they must be IMF then and not part of the plan to kidnap Stark. “Hawkeye, report.”

“All assailants accounted for and taken care of, sir.” Clint nudged one of the bodies at his feet. “Though we might need to get a medical team in here if you want them to survive the day, I mean, I took non-fatal shots but infections, shock, etc. etc. The physical wounds are all Agent Brandt’s doing.”

Coulson gave Clint one of his classic ‘I am unimpressed with your snark, do your job or face paperwork’ looks before he pasted on his ‘relationships with other intelligence organizations is imperative to SHIELD’s operation’ smile and directed his attention to Brandt. “I’ve heard about you, Agent Brandt, it’s good to finally meet you.”

Brandt wheezed slightly, Clint checked the guy over worriedly. Was he wounded? He could have mentioned it. “Are you, sorry, are you Phil Coulson?” Coulson nodded. “I’m a _huge_ fan…”

“He used to be an analyst.” The IMF agent closest to Natasha whispered to her.


End file.
